I didn't know which was worse, the fact that I had been naïve to the answer--or that a seemingly innocent nineteen-year-old was one to enlighten me.
I didn't ask her how she acquired her knowledge, I simply pointed to door saying, "I think I need a cigarette after that discussion--are you all right up here?"
One of the cooks chuckled gleefully as she walked by, out the dining room door, on the similar mission of sparking a cancer stick.
We chatted idily about the rigors of childbirth, inspired in part by the prior discussion.
"Purple lampshade--sounds like an invitation for hemorrhoids, to me," I said, referring to one of the two sexual euphemisms the hostess had explained to me just minutes before.
"Hell, honey--that is a hemorrhoid!"
"I can do without those, thank you," I said firmly, drawing on my cigarette, while employing a mock primness.
But still, I was surprised at how far out of the loop that I felt.
Snowballs and purple lampshades?
Not to mention, the flashfire tutelege from the nineteen-year-old.
As the cook and I returned to our posts, she leaned to me and said, "Well, one thing is for sure--I know what the ring of fire is!"
Unable to mask the laughter within my voice, I answered, "Yeah, I'm familar with that one, too."
I certainly learned more than the menu that day.
But then again, green is growing!
Anyone else equally puzzled?
